


Tommyinnit is protected, by me.

by ViolentVioletEye



Series: How long can you run? [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Manipulation, All done by Dream, Antarctic Empire, Dadza, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emperor Technoblade, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Good Technoblade, How does that not have a tag yet wtf, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Long-Haired Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), aftermath of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28241469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentVioletEye/pseuds/ViolentVioletEye
Summary: Techno has the exiled Tommy in his care now. He refuses to ever let him go again and makes a vow to protect the teen no matter the cost. Even if it means he has to do it alone.Theseus will not die this time.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: How long can you run? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068791
Comments: 125
Kudos: 1104





	1. "I'm here."

**Author's Note:**

> Hell yeah, time for a vent fic motherfuckers. If you've come for some protective Technoblade, some Antarctic Empire, some mentally fucked Tommy whose entering a recovery arc, a villain Dream with absolutely no sympathy or good light from the author, then you've come to the right place. Sit back, relax, hold onto your ass, and get ready cause I got a whole lotta ideas and absolutely NO OUTLINE.
> 
> In all seriousness, this fic is going to be dealing with the heavy aftermath of emotional abuse, references to emotional abuse and manipulation, along with flashbacks to scenes that will be heavy with those. If you can't handle that, then please take care of yourself and please exit this fic. I will put TWs at the beginning of any chapters that will deal heavy with those topics, but this isn't a plot that you're gonna be able to skip chapters in. BUT, this isn't just an angst fic. there will be plenty, and I do mean PLENTY of comfort. I'm very excited to write Techno in this because this man is here to protect and comfort his little brother and he hasn't come to fucking play around. Also, in case you haven't already figured it out, Dream is the villain in this fanfic and I will have absolutely no sympathy when I write him. He's an abuser and a manipulator. Of course, I'm referring to the character he plays in the SMP, and he plays it very, very well. I absolutely adore irl Dream, and everything in this fic is in no way meant to be a reflection on any of the characters' IRL selves. But that being said, if you're a diehard Dream stan that absolutely cannot handle it when this guy is painted in a bad light, even just his Minecraft persona, then I suggest you leave LMAO Also, this picks up where I left off with the 'How long can you run' one shot, so I HIGHLY suggest reading that one before you dive into this. I mean, you don't have to, but you're gonna be kinda confused.
> 
> Okay. That should be everything. Sit back, relax, pop some popcorn, and get ready for me to spill all of my issues and trauma onto poor fucking Tommy because I am not in a good place right now and this is gonna be my outlet. This is MY breakdown and I GET TO CHOOSE MY COMFORT STREAMERS
> 
> okay loves enjoy <3333

Tommy woke up gasping, hands dragging at his chest, only to meet something plush and warm. As his mind ran a hundred miles per minute, he realized a few things. One thing was that he was lying in a bed. An actual bed. But he wasn’t supposed to be in a bed! Had Dream felt bad? Had he pulled him into the bed sometime in the middle of the night, after Tommy fell asleep? He didn’t remember falling asleep. It had been so cold. But he wasn’t cold, he was quite warm—how many blankets were on him? It felt like five, maybe even ten they were so heavy. They only had one blanket! Had Dream gotten more? It was getting _really_ cold, especially in the tent.

Then Tommy realized he wasn’t in the tent.

He sat up, looking around with wide eyes. He was in a room, in a house—and it looked nothing like the house he and Ghostbur had built that he stopped using when Ghostbur stopped showing up. No, while wood and logs _were_ making up the walls, there was also white concrete. There were two windows, covered by trapped doors and curtains, but the one closest to him was pulled back just enough for him to get a peek outside. He couldn’t see… much. Just white. For a moment he wondered if he was in a void, but then he saw glimpses of animals and mobs and realized that the white was _snow._ It snowed back in Logstedshire, sure, but never _that much._ Sometimes, at night, it would get really heavy and cold, but you could still see some things out in the snow.

Where the hell was he? He was starting to get scared. Had Dream taken him even further away from l’Manberg? Had he pushed too much? Would he never see anyone but Dream ever again? His breath began to pick up, grabbing at his chest again. He sat up in the bed he was lying in, and the blankets fell around him, and that’s when he felt the blast of heat beside him. He jumped, though he wasn’t sure why, and he looked to the side to see two furnaces just a block away from his bed. They were lit, burning with such ferocity that he had only seen once, during the war. They had run out of coal and were running too low on wood while they were held up in the walls. Dream’s people had been banging on their walls and trying to break through, making it impossible to go out for supplies. It had been in the dead of winter, and it had been so cold. Until Eret had snuck off into a mine, got five buckets of lava, and came back and threw them into the furnaces.

Wilbur and Eret had argued for hours about how dangerous that had been, how it hadn’t even been worth it, but Tommy hadn’t even cared back then. He had been too busy with curling up in front of the roaring furnaces, sharing a blanket with Tubbo while playing cards with him, Fundy, and Niki. It was that night that Tommy even learned that trick. He had asked the science of it late the next night, where the furnaces were _still_ burning, and Eret had crouched beside him to check on the furnace Tommy had been lying in front of.

_“My dad showed it to me,” Eret whispered to him, his deep voice low to avoid waking up Niki, Fundy, and Tubbo. “He didn’t really know how it worked either. His dad showed him. Guess it’s some weird family secret.” He chuckled and shook his head. “But, either way, it can make a furnace burn for several days.”_

_“Thanks for getting it,” Tommy whispered, burying himself into his blankets again. Eret looked at him. “I know Wilbur isn’t happy with it, but, I don’t think we would have survived another night. Tubbo couldn’t feel his toes.” Eret stared down at him, sunglasses hiding his true feelings like always before he smiled and patted Tommy’s head._

_“Thanks, kid.”_

Tommy missed Eret.

He rubbed at his eyes roughly before he listened closely, squinting as he tried to make out if he was alone. He could hear the two furnaces crackling away beside him, the wind howling outside, and the creaking of the house as it tried to settle in the raging snowstorm outside. Was it daytime? Was it nighttime? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t like that. It was rather dark in the room, but he didn’t know if that was because it was a day, or if it was because the storm was so dense outside that it was blocking out the light. It was making his head hurt, and sleepy. But he could already feel the adrenaline kicking in, terror creeping in as he realized he had _no idea where the fuck he was._

He swung his feet off the bed and pressed them against the floorboards, going to push himself up when he looked down at them and paused. They were wrapped in gauze. He stared down at them, face twisting in confusion before he lifted his right foot and propped it up on his left knee, gingerly pressing his fingers against one of the bandages. He felt a little bit of pain, but it wasn’t enough to make him wince. He looked around again, and when was when he saw the cloak tangled up with the blankets. He reached out and touched it, staring at the scarlet red material and the fur that lined the edges. He stared down at it in confusion, wondering why it made him feel nostalgic when he suddenly heard a clatter downstairs.

He froze.

 _“Shit,”_ a deep voice muttered, and his head snapped around to the ladder. He stared at it with wide eyes, trying to figure out if what he had just heard was real. It couldn’t be. Could it? He hadn’t heard that voice in so long, but it sounded _just_ like…

_“It’s alright. You’re okay.”_

_“Take it slow, honey, I made plenty.”_

The cloak. The voice. The house around him practically bled with _his_ style. Tommy suddenly shot to his feet. He wobbled as his head immediately spun in retaliation, falling against one of the furnaces and hissing as it burned his thigh. He leaned away from it, causing himself to go tilting to the ground with a loud crash. He yelped, gritting his teeth as he bit the collar of his shirt to keep himself from crying. Dream hated it when he cried, so Tommy had picked up on a few things to keep himself from crying. Sometimes he couldn’t help it, though. Dream called him weak, said he was nothing but a child, an emotional teen who couldn’t hold it together for even a full day. And he was right. So he picked up on ways to keep himself from crying and to keep the sounds as minimal as possible when he did.

He tried to stand up again, but the heat in his thigh and his tilted balance kept him from staying on his feet for longer than a few seconds. It certainly wasn’t long enough for him to make it to the ladder, and even if he had, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it down without slipping and giving himself a concussion.

 _It would be worth it,_ he thought feverishly, _it would be worth it if it meant seeing if he was actually here._

But he didn’t need to hurt himself to figure it out, as while he stumbled around like a newborn deer, he missed the creaking of the ladder as someone climbed it.

“Hey, hey, stop. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

A hand clutched his shoulder and Tommy sobbed before he bit covered his mouth. He bit down on the collar of his shirt, squeezing his eyes shut. It couldn’t be. If he looked, he wouldn’t be there, and he would wake up from this wonderful dream. He wanted to stay here, where it was warm and he was with someone that wasn’t Dream.

“Tommy, what are you doing? Stop that.” A hand grabbed his chin and he gasped, thrown off that the touch was gentle. It was nothing like the times' Dream would grab his face, be it by his chin or his cheeks, to either make him look at him or to just find an excuse to bruise his skin. His eyes fluttered open and he looked up by instinct, trembling as he felt another hand clasped his shoulder to steady him. He was starting to sway. He wasn’t sure why. His wide, dull blue eyes met a dark brown. They were so dark he struggled to find where the pupil began and the iris ended. But it wasn’t difficult to put a name to the face staring down at him.

He didn’t have his crown. He didn’t have his cloak. He wore a white shirt and simple brown trousers and heavy boots. But he had his eyes. He had that scar that ran down his left eye, and the other that was slashed across his right cheek. Both were faded white from time. But most importantly, he had pink hair. It was done in its usual braid, slung over his right shoulder and reaching his waist even while it was up.

He remembered, now. He remembered leaving the tent while Dream slept. He remembered walking for hours in the blizzard, and how, surely by the grace of Brine, he had stumbled right onto his older brother’s doorstep. His brother, who was exiled just like him and was wanted for treason and anarchy. His brother, who had beat Dream in a friendly duel some years back, before this all went to shit. His brother the Blood God, the King of Skywars, the Emperor of the Antarctic Empire. 

Tommy’s breath sped up and Techno’s eyes gained a look of worry that didn’t fit him.

“Hey, kid, it’s alright—”

Tommy launched himself forward, into his chest, wrapping his arms as tight as he could around Techno’s middle as he buried his head into his shoulder. He trembled against him, sobbing as he clutched at the back of his brother’s shoulders, his blunt nails dragging down, unable to find purchase in the soft fabric. Techno stiffened against him, lifting one of his hands, and he stared down at the sobbing teen pressed against him before he slowly lowered the hand onto the back of his head. His fingers threaded into Tommy’s hair, his other hand coming to press against the small of his back.

“It’s okay,” Techno whispered. “You’re alright. I’m right here.”

“Please,” Tommy whimpered and Techno listened closely, expecting for him to ask for food, to be carried back to bed. He didn’t expect; “Please don’t let this be a dream!”

Techno’s heart shattered. If he tightened his grip on Tommy, the teen didn’t complain. In fact, he seemed to bury himself deeper into him, soaking up his warmth and enjoying the safety in his arms. And if Techno shed a few tears of his own, Tommy wasn’t aware enough to notice, and there wasn’t anyone else in the room to call him out on it. Tommy wouldn’t have noticed even if he hadn’t been crying, as he was still riding on the fact that his brother was here, and he was in his house, away from Logstedshire, away from that tent, away from _Dream._

He was with his brother, who could _protect him._

“Oh, honey,” Techno whispered, voice trembling with emotion. Tommy didn’t realize just how far Techno would go to protect him.

“It’s okay,” Techno whispered, turning his head to nuzzle his nose into his hair. He knew he should put Tommy back in bed, wrap him up in those blankets; and his thigh felt concerningly warm. He would. Soon. But not yet. Right now, he just wanted to hold him. "I'm here, Tommy."

_“I’m here."_


	2. Firewood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy is desperate to be useful in any way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so sweet ;-; your comments really made me smile.
> 
> Believe it or not, this was going to be longer. But I wanted to give you guys something today, and my sister needs to use the computer :P
> 
> TW: Not really much? Tommy's early mentality of escaping Dream is explored in this chapter, and we see some of the ways Dream manipulated him. So I guess there are references to emotional manipulation in this chapter, but it's not that heavy in my opinion. Just tread carefully, I guess if that sort of thing can trigger you but you wanna take the risk.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy :)

Tommy had no idea Techno could sew. When he told him, he could scarcely believe it. He was still waiting for the punchline if he was being honest. But there was the presence of the loom and the mannequin down on the bottom floor of the house—that room confused him, was it a basement? But it didn’t go down into the floor… But they also used the ‘second’ floor as a kitchen and living room and the ‘first’ floor as storage. He wondered why, because it was frigid down there, but he didn’t wanna ask, he knew better than to ask, _bad things would happen if he asked—_ so he kept his mouth shut and just nodded. Techno had given him a cotton white sweatshirt and some dark blue pants, both insulated with wool, along with wool socks. The hoodie of the sweatshirt was perfect to pull up when his ears felt cold, which was often at night when he was trying to sleep. The mannequin still had a few strips of fabric pinned to it, placeholders for some outfit Techno had started but wasn’t finished with just yet. He hadn’t touched it since Tommy had woken up. Tommy had a feeling it was because of him—he was getting in the way, he was _always_ getting in the way—but whenever he brought it up Techno waved it off.

Techno did that a lot. He waved away a lot of stuff like they were nothing when Tommy _knew_ that sort of stuff was important. Washing the dishes, cleaning out the furnaces and the fireplace, brushing the snow off of the porch and the railings and the roof of the stable, helping with dinner, or even _making_ dinner—Techno would just wave him off when he would ask to help. He did it all by himself. Except for cleaning off the porch and the railings and the stables; he didn’t touch that stuff. He always told Tommy there wasn’t a point as it would just start snowing again by the time either of them would be. But it couldn’t hurt to check, Tommy thought. What if it made the wood rot, and it all just collapsed? The stable roof would collapse on Carl! Didn’t Techno care about his horse?!

Techno cooked, he washed the dishes, he threw firewood and coal into the fireplace with reckless abandon. Tommy found if he so much as shivered, Techno would stop whatever he was doing to add more wood. Tommy tried to repress his shudders, tried to at least make them less noticeable, but no matter what he did he usually started shivering just a tiny bit and Techno would immediately notice. It was like how dogs sense tsunamis. He just didn’t understand his brother sometimes. What was his gain? Was he tiring himself out so he could complain about how he did everything in this house, and Tommy did absolutely nothing? To make him feel bad, so he would take on all of the chores without complaint? Tommy would do that now! If Techno would just let him, he’d be more than happy to start now! Was he waiting for them to run out of firewood so he could yell at Tommy for wasting all of it? He remembered how Dream had only gotten enough wood to last him a night at the beginning of the winter, and when it had all been gone by his next visit he had screamed at Tommy for what felt like hours. He wanted to avoid that. He could avoid it if he wasn’t so sensitive to the fucking cold. If only he wasn’t so _weak._

He eyed the pile of firewood as they ate dinner. The pile was getting smaller and smaller as the days went by. There was more wood downstairs by the ladder, but there wasn’t much left. They had stopped using coal to fuel the fireplace because they needed it more for cooking in the furnaces. There used to be so much more coal, and even _more_ wood, nearly two stacks that reached the ceiling in perfect formation, but now they were nearly gone and Tommy had only been here for what, a week? They were going through too much, way too fast! And it was all his fault! But it wasn’t like he didn’t _try_ to stop Techno when he would go to add more. He had done everything except grab onto his arm or yank the wood out of his hands, and he hardly believed he would _ever_ do that. He knew better. He knew _better,_ he was _better,_ so why couldn’t his brother just let him _be_ better?

“Techno?” He asked, then immediately lost his courage when Techno looked up from his steak and baked potatoes to look at him with those dark eyes. They were piercing. He used to think that Dream’s eyes were the scariest things as he rarely saw them when the man was happy, but after living with Techno for a week, he found that that blank stare of his brother was much more terrifying. Tommy couldn’t _read_ him. He could read Dream, even with his mask. It had taken some time, but he had figured it out. But it was like Techno would purposely hide everything from him, like he refused to let him get ahold of how to read him and how to act around him. Tommy was walking around eggshells and his feet were getting sore and he just wanted it all to _stop._

“Nevermind,” he whispered, ducking his head to stare at his plate. His servings were smaller than Techno’s, which made sense. He was just a leech. He got what Techno gave him and he didn’t dare complain. Besides, sometimes, they still felt like too much. He had to force himself to eat during the first few days he was here, to the point where he felt sick. He didn’t tell Techno. He didn’t want to complain about the food he was given, considering it was more food than he had had in what felt like months. He wasn’t used to eating every day, much less _three_ meals a day, that was all. And he wasn’t used to such hearty meals. Usually, Dream just tossed him some chicken or something and that was that. That was enough. Why was Techno so hellbent on wasting food on him? So he could yell at him when they ran out?

He missed Dream. Dream was easier than this. Whatever this was. Techno just felt too _nice,_ too _forgiving_ of Tommy’s mistakes, too _understanding_ of the needless questions he asked. Why couldn’t he just yell at him? Why couldn’t he hit him? At least _once!_ He knew how to handle that!

Techno didn’t push him to finish the sentence he started. He rarely did, even when Tommy stopped in the middle of a sentence. If given enough words, sometimes he'd be able to guess what Tommy was trying to ask and answer anyway. Other times he would press, coax him into asking his questions and sometimes he succeeded, but most of the time Tommy would refuse to open his mouth out of fear that this would be the question that would finally push him over the edge.

He laid in bed that night, mulling over these thoughts in his head. He tried to find the answer for why Techno was being so nice, so _forgiving,_ and tried to figure out when it would all stop. Sometimes, he’d be able to tell when Dream was close to getting fed up with him, and he’d spend a few days almost frantically trying to be as good as he could be to improve Dream’s mood. He hadn’t wanted him to leave him. He didn’t want Techno to leave him either. But the older man was so hard to _fucking read._

It was when he was lying there in bed, turning these thoughts over his head again and again, when he was struck with a thought. Maybe Techno wasn’t waiting for them to run out. At least, maybe that wasn’t the first idea of his plot. What if he was waiting for Tommy to take initiative? To take care of things himself, like the adult that he was? He didn’t need his permission to wash dishes, or to start cooking dinner, or, hell, to even go out and get firewood! Some nights the snow was nasty, but other times, while it would still be snowing, it wouldn’t be _as_ bad. It snowed a lot here, a lot more than at the beach—or maybe they were just in the middle of winter. He had lost his grip on time a long time ago, but if he remembered correctly, the mid-winters on the SMP were absolutely horrible. It was mid-winter when they were being held up behind the walls of l’Manberg and Eret risked his life to get lava for his furnace trick. It had been so cold then, and it was so cold now, but—he was better prepared! He had better clothes! He didn’t have a coat or shoes; Techno was a man of many talents but even he couldn’t make shoes out of thin air, and the weather had been too unpredictable to leave Tommy alone long enough to go buy some from where.

But… He could just use Techno’s coat and shoes. Well, Techno’s coat wasn’t really a ‘coat;’ it was his cloak. But Tommy had worn it before, and it was very warm! Granted, he had never worn it _outside,_ but Techno only wore it whenever he went out, so it _had_ to be warm. And even if Techno’s shoes were too big on him, the treeline wasn’t _that_ far away. He found himself smiling a little as he began to piece together a plan. Tomorrow, he would tell Techno he was going to get wood, he wouldn’t ask! Surely that would please his older brother, surely that would keep him from flying off the handle any time soon. Then Tommy could start doing the dishes after a couple of days, and maybe he could even start cooking! He was a bit out of practice, sure, and even then he had never been good at cooking anything outside of throwing it into the furnace and turning it from raw to cooked. He would miss Techno’s cooking, sure, but it was time he started pulling his weight!

Then Tommy’s smile faltered as he thought of something. If he _told_ Techno he was going to do something, if he didn’t _ask…_ Wouldn’t he get mad? Because Tommy was trying to tell him what to do? He didn’t tell people what to do, he was a follower, not a leader. Techno was the exact opposite. Like Wilbur, he was a leader. He made the rules, he made the decisions, and at the end of the day, you kept your mouth shut and you did what you were ordered to do. Even if you didn’t agree. Even if you were utterly terrified. Would Techno be angry if he told him he was going to do something he hadn’t given him permission to do? But, then again, he had never explicitly said he _couldn’t..._

That sort of thinking had never worked on Dream, though. In fact, it only pissed him off more.

Tommy had to fight down a panic attack, eyes squeezed shut as a few tears welled in his eyes. They were more out of frustration than anything. Was there no answer? Was he just doomed to sit with Techno, a ticking time bomb, and wait for the bomb to explode the moment it hit zero? He whimpered as he opened his eyes and looked at the furnaces beside him. He curled up, scooting closer to the edge of his bed so he could feel the warmth a bit better. He had been here long enough that the lava had gone out, and now they were back to firewood. It was fine, it was enough; though he did miss that almost infernal blaze that came from the lava buckets.

Tommy laid there on his side, staring into the fire in the two furnaces, and tried to just think. There wouldn’t be any sleeping tonight, he could already tell. He had to find a solution, he was _determined_ to. He wouldn’t sleep until he had figured something out. If he couldn’t tell Techno that he would go woodchopping, as that would surely piss the man off, then what _could_ he do? He couldn’t wait for him to get angry, he wanted to avoid that as much as possible or die trying. He just wanted to be safe, and here, he was safe with Techno, even though right now he was just a nuisance. How could he change that? What could he do to make this better?

 _You could sneak around,_ a voice whispered. A voice he hadn’t listened to since he was in l’Manberg. It was his idiotic side, the one that wouldn’t grow up, and it was obvious they still hadn’t. He couldn’t _sneak around!_ Techno never even fucking slept!... Well. That was a lie. He did sleep, but only two, maybe three times a week. There was a second bed up here, closer to the ladder and without any furnaces. Techno had made it shortly after Tommy woke up. When Tommy asked why he didn’t sleep every night, Techno had shrugged and said he didn’t get tired as often as everyone else. Tommy found that hard to believe. He was certain it was because he had so much to do, with so little help. It was another thing Tommy felt absolutely horrible for. But maybe… Maybe he could use it to his advantage.

Techno kept his boots and cloak near the door. Tommy knew where he kept his weapons. He had seen a few old weapons, some stone, some iron; he could use the stone. It wouldn’t be used for a while if ever considering Techno had Netherite gear. There was mending on them too. Techno had let Tommy hold his sword briefly and only chuckled when Tommy almost dropped it, though it was some of the most harrowing moments of Tommy’s life. He’d hate to imagine what would happen if he had dropped it, and chipped it or something. Only he was stupid enough to fuck up something like Netherite. But stone? He could handle stone. And surely Techno wouldn’t notice if a stone tool went missing, in case he _did_ break it, and it had already been sitting in a chest for so long that he surely had forgotten all about it. If he ever did end up using it, he wouldn’t be able to tell that it had been used more since the last time he saw it.

Tommy’s smile came back. He had a plan, then! He would wait until Techno slept, then sneak downstairs, get his boots and cloak, go to the storage floor to get the ax, and then just go out the door on that floor so he wouldn’t risk waking Techno up. And if he did somehow wake him up while he was heading down the ladder, he could just say he was getting a drink of water and going to the bathroom. Techno would fall asleep before he was supposed to come back, he was sure. He wouldn’t even stay out that long. He could make this a weekly occurrence. Every time Techno slept, he could go out and get more wood and gradually add to the pile. Just enough to keep them okay, and slowly enough that Techno likely wouldn’t realize.

He had a plan. It was a bit scary, but he was sure once he did it a few times, it would be easy peasy. He was so giddy that he found himself kicking his feet as he rolled onto his back, wrapping his blankets tighter around himself. He needed to get some rest then. Who knew when Techno would decide to sleep. The man just did not have a set schedule. But once he was asleep, Tommy would enact his plan. If he seemed a bit tired the next day, then he could just lie and tell Techno that he had had a nightmare. Sadly, those were common. But he didn’t let those thoughts deter him, or take away the smile on his lips. He had a plan, and it was scary, but he would do it. He would be useful.

He slipped off to sleep and dreamt of him, Techno, Phil, and Wilbur sitting in a warm clearing during the spring, laughing and talking as they ate a feast full of Tommy’s cherished childhood meals on a picnic blanket. Wilbur ruffled his hair, Phil hugged him close, and Techno kissed his head, and all was happy and warm.

Two days later, Techno went upstairs with Tommy an hour after dinner. Tommy’s heart pounded in his chest as they settled down in their beds, gripping the edges of his blankets in a tight grip. He shut his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, trying to not visibly shake so Techno wouldn’t notice and put more wood in the furnace. The past few days he had been mulling the plan over his head, double-checking on where Techno put his cloak and his boots, triple checked to make sure the stone ax was where he thought it was, and got as much sleep as he could every night so he would be well-rested for when Techno decided he would sleep that night. Now, it seemed that the time had come, and he knew he couldn’t back out after all of his preparations. He kept his eyes shut as he listened to Techno settle down in bed, turning a page in the book he was reading this week. He always brought a book to bed with him. Tommy hoped he wouldn’t take very long.

In the meantime, he made it look like he was fast asleep. He kept his breath slow and deep, his face buried into his pillow and half-covered by his blankets by pulling them up to his nose so he could resist the urge to open his eyes and look at his brother. He listened as he turned the pages, listened as he adjusted in bed a couple of times before he finally gave a deep, long yawn and he shut the book. Though Tommy couldn’t see, he knew what he was doing. He put the book under his bed and settled back in bed, pulling the one blanket he had up to his chin. Tommy gritted his teeth. He forgot that Techno only had one blanket, while Tommy was hogging four. He tightened his grip on the blankets and then forced himself to relax, telling himself that he would be making up for it very soon.

“Goodnight, Tommy,” Techno muttered, so softly Tommy had to strain to hear it. He didn’t respond, further pushing the idea that he was fast asleep. Techno adjusted himself one last time, then finally fell still. His breathing evened out, but Tommy didn’t budge from bed or open his eyes. Instead, he waited until he had counted to a thousand and then slowly, carefully opened his eyes. He looked towards his brother’s still figure, watched as his chest lifted and fell from his slow, deep breaths. Slowly, as carefully as he could, he sat up. He winced as his bed creaked, but didn’t let that deter him from getting out of bed. He held his breath as he watched his brother’s every move, waiting for him to get up and ask what he was doing. But he didn’t even shift as Tommy tiptoed past, headed for the ladder. As he crept down the ladder, Tommy thought back to how he had snuck away from Dream in almost the same way. Suddenly, he felt a huge wave of guilt. What if Techno woke up and thought he ran away? What if he was so torn apart with worry that he went out to find him, and went in the opposite direction? What if he got hurt while looking for Tommy? What if he _died?_

He stood at the bottom of the ladder, standing in the very bottom floor. He clutched Techno’s heavy boots in one hand and had his cloak slung over his shoulder. He stared up at the trapdoor at the very top of the ladder. He had shut it behind him, to try and muffle any noises. He was almost through with the hardest part. He couldn’t back away _now._ He had started it, so he had to finish it. Even if he only did this once, he had to do it so he could say that he at least _tried._ Even though he knew that really wouldn’t matter in the end. It never did.

He pulled the boots on, and it took him a couple of seconds longer than it should have to tie them because his hands were shaking. He decided to believe it was the chill of the basement, and he quickly fastened Techno’s cloak on. It was heavy on his shoulders, heavier than he remembered; though the last time he had been wearing it he had been lying down and unconscious for most of it. He ignored it as he shuffled to the chest that held the ax, still being mindful of any noise he made as he carefully opened the chest. He let himself smile as he saw the stone ax, which was on top of the others. He had made sure it was, so he made as little noise as possible. It was worth doing, as he pulled it out of the chest and shut said chest with only a creak of the hinges.

He found he struggled to hold the ax, though, when he thought was strange. He handled heavier. Diamond was lighter than iron, but iron was much heavier than stone. He shrugged it off, telling himself he would be fine once he started swinging it around. He crept out the set of doors on that floor, carefully shutting it behind him. He took a couple of steps away from the house and then looked back at it, bracing himself. He waited to see a light come on inside. He waited for Techno to come racing out, screaming at him for leaving the house without his permission, for trying to _sneak_ out, for taking his shoes and his cloak and his ax. But it didn’t happen. The house was still and silent. The snow fell slowly around him, and he began to grin as he realized he had done it. The hardest part was over.

He heard something beside him and he gasped, quickly whipping around as he held the ax up with slightly trembling arms, only to find himself looking into Carl’s dark eyes. The horse stared at him, then gave another snort. Tommy, for a moment, felt judged. But he shook it off, reminding himself that it was just a horse, and he had a job to do. Sure, the easiest part was done, but now he needed to get as much wood chopped as possible. He looked around the clearing and his smile came back. Just as he thought. There wasn’t a mob in sight. Mob sightings went down during the winter, especially in places that had very harsh winters. You could still find them in caves, but they were rarer out on the surface. Some went into hibernation. Others just couldn’t handle the cold. Speaking of the devil, a cold wind rushed through the clearing the house was in and Tommy shuddered, wrapping the cloak tighter around himself. He frowned as he realized the cloak wasn’t keeping him as warm as he thought, even when he clasped it shut. How did Techno stay so warm in this? He didn’t even shake!

Oh well. He was sure he’d warm up once he started chopping down some trees. He slung the ax over his shoulder, then tilted to the side and nearly went sprawling into the snow. He settled for just dragging the ax behind him as he headed for the treeline, beginning to hum a soft tune underneath his breath. He was excited to get started. He was excited to be _useful._

Tommy felt like crying, he was so fucking disappointed. He trembled in the storage level of the room, staring at the pathetic pile of firewood he had gotten. It seemed like so much when he was doing it. His arms had started shaking while he was chopping down trees, and he had to keep taking breaks lest he wanted to drop the ax and take off his foot. But he had broken off some good chunks from trees, peeled off some bark because he had learned from watching Techno that they were some _great_ fire starters when they were dry, and had even taken the time to break off some weaker twigs and not-so-thick branches. He had _tried_ to cut down a whole tree, but he had given up when he had to take two breaks and he had barely taken a dent. Was that where all his time had gone? Because the sun was rising outside, and he hadn’t even gotten enough wood to stack halfway to the ceiling. And the pile had already been one-third of a way there before he started.

He put the ax away and pulled the shoes off after stomping the snow off of them. He took the cloak off with fumbling fingers, breathed against them to try and warm them up, but gave up when he felt how his breath trembled in his throat. He climbed up the ladder, the boots in one hand and the cloak slung over his shoulder just like how he had gone down the ladder hours prior. It was much harder this time. His arms were shaking a little by the time he got to the second floor, where he set the boots down under the coat hanger, which he then hung the cloak on. He left them exactly how he found them, then crept back up the ladder to the top floor, where Techno was still fast asleep. His entire body was shaking by the time he slipped into bed, which was cold without him and the furnaces were barely burning beside him. He curled up and tried not to cry, gripping at his pillow as he glared down at the bed.

He was so upset. He was _distraught._ Dream was right. He couldn’t do _anything_ right.

He squeezed his eyes shut and told himself that he would do it again, and again. He would do it every single time Techno went to bed, no matter how many times he did it in one week. He would push and push until he was giving them a steady flow of firewood every time he went out. He would work for his place in Techno’s house, goddammit, even if it _killed_ him.

He drifted off to sleep, heart heavy and body aching from the cold. In his dreams, he was haunted by the image of him in a dark and howling forest, a heavy cloak on his shoulders, an ax in his hands, and Dream’s laughter coming from the east. He was alone. He was scared.

He was so, so scared.


	3. Something is Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno wakes up, and he knows something is wrong.

Techno woke up feeling like something was very wrong.

He laid there in bed, staring up at the ceiling with furrowed eyebrows. For the past week or so, nearly two now, he had felt like something was wrong. Particularly with Tommy. The kid looked tired, more so than usual. On the nights’ Techno slept up here with the kid, he always looked like he hadn’t slept a wink whenever he came downstairs for breakfast. Sometimes, the kid would sleep until lunch. And Techno didn’t know if he should say something or just let it go. The kid had been through some shit, and not just physically. Techno knew how to heal wounds. He knew how to tend to scars. Put him in a room full of wounded and dying soldiers and give him some cheap alcohol and gauze and he’d tell you he’s worked with less and go on to save most, if not _all,_ of those soldiers. He had been in so many goddamn wars. He had been the Emperor for a bloodthirsty empire, for Gods’ fucking sake.

But he didn’t know how to fix _emotional_ wounds. Put him in a room full of PTSD ridden soldiers and he’ll feel right at home, but don’t send him in there as a therapist. He’d sooner get on his knees and beg for you to not do that. He, the Blood God, would forgo all of his pride just so he wouldn’t have to listen to someone sob and blab their trauma. He didn’t know how to help. You very well couldn’t punch someone’s trauma. Unless you punched them in the head and gave them a concussion. But no one wanted that. At least, he hadn’t met anyone who did. He highly doubted Tommy would be the first. The kid, who he had known since he was a snotnosed little toddler constantly telling him to ‘fight him!’ was nothing like the loud and brash teen he had been the last time Techno had seen him.

 _The last time you saw him, you set two withers on his nation,_ one of the voices hissed and he shut his eyes and let out a sigh. The others joined in but were silenced by his harsh growl. He wasn’t in the _mood._ He could tolerate them, sure, but he was the fucking Blood God. He wouldn’t be _dictated_ by some seemingly omnipotent voices that only knew one letter sometimes. At least, that was what he had sworn to himself when he went into retirement in the first place. As much as he hated the voices, he also knew they were right. When Techno had screamed at Tommy, told him that dumbass Greek story he knew all too well, and then set off two Withers to destroy the nation Tommy had built and had fought so hard to get back to after being exiled. And then he had done nothing—absolutely _nothing!_ —when he had heard of the boy’s exile. He hadn’t visited him, he hadn’t done any of that, and why? Because he trusted Dream’s _word,_ the man who had him exiled in the first place?

Techno, the Blood God, the ex-Emperor of the Antarctic Empire, was also a goddamn _idiot._ He had a lot to make up for the kid, and though he had no clue what he was doing, he still tried to help him. He gave him space. He gave him plenty of food. Whenever the kid so much as shivered, he threw as much wood into the fireplace as it could fit. He waved away his protests, gently turned down his offers for help. He knew there wasn’t much to do here, especially since they were alone and it was too deep in the winter to be going out for anything short of life-threatening, but he had a lot of books. The kid had taken a liken to reading as Techno had. But he couldn’t decide if he liked that, or if he was borderline horrified over how long the kid could sit still. He remembered when he was young and loud, running around the kitchen while Phil struggled to make dinner. The only time he had been still was during the morning, and even then it only took him an hour to bounce back. Techno wished Phil was _here._ It felt like the broken child in his care was only getting _worse._

But while he desperately wished his old friend was here considering Tommy was his _son,_ he also knew that there was no way he’d be able to make it here during the winter. He was settled in l’Manberg, as settled as someone could be when they had joined a nation to be with their adopted son after killing his _blood_ son in those very lands, only for their adopted son to be exiled just months before the fucking winter.

This family tree pissed Techno off, sometimes.

He sighed angrily before he rolled onto his side, his back to Tommy. He glared at the wall next to his bed, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out what was keeping him awake. He had things to do tomorrow. He would need to cook, like always. Carl was due for a brush down, even though it would be a bitch to stand out in the cold and do it. He very well couldn’t bring his horse inside, though. He’d get over it. He also needed to clean out the fireplace, all of the ash from past fires was beginning to clog up and so the smoke wasn’t filtering out the chimney right. It was fine right now, but he should take care of it before it got worse and suddenly he had a house full of smoke. Oh, and, he needed to make some more clothes for Tommy. He had moved his sewing supplies to his shed so he could work in peace. Every time he had, he could feel Tommy’s eyes burning into his back. For some reason, Techno felt like he wasn’t curious about his craft, but rather apprehensive about seeing Techno with a needle. He got the same way when Techno had to use a knife to make dinner. He hoped it was because of how their last meeting had gone, _not_ because of Dream, but a lot of his hopes kept getting dashed across the rocks lately. Such as having a peaceful life on a farm, then dismantling a corrupt government and coming out of a war with no casualties, and then just wanting a peaceful retirement.

God. He just wanted _peace._

Wait.

That’s it.

The room was quiet.

Techno leaped to his feet, rushing around the bed and staring at Tommy’s with wide, piercing brown eyes. It was empty. He yanked the blankets back, and, yep, still empty. Jesus fucking Christ. He wasn’t in the bathroom. He didn’t hear any water running to suggest a bath or a shower, and he would have been back long ago if it was just to take a piss. Techno had to have been lying in bed, tossing and turning, being so fucking oblivious to what had woken him up for at least half an hour. Tommy. Tommy had woken him up because he was _gone._ And Techno didn’t know where he could have gone.

Techno whipped around and sprinted towards the ladder, bare feet thumping against the cold wooden floor. He slid down it, swinging onto the second floor as he grabbed for his cloak, only for his hand to grope at nothing but air. He stared at the coat rack, the voices beginning to pick up in volume in his head. He didn’t have it in him to tell them to shut up, because they were asking questions that he agreed with.

_Where’s Tommy where is he find him find him find find find find the boy find Tommy—_

The couch was empty. So was the kitchen. He still checked the bathroom and it was just as empty as he expected. When he was coming back, he realized that his boots were missing. He stared at the spot they were meant to be in, eyes wide, face paling. He looked out the windows, squinting out in the night but he couldn’t see shit. He growled, anger beginning to rise in his chest while the voices whispered frantically in his head. It wasn’t towards Tommy, but more towards the fact that he had no fucking clue where the kid was. Had he been lured away by someone? Had that someone been _Dream?_ What if it was someone from l’Manberg? It shouldn’t be possible, no one knew about his base, and the weather had been so shit lately that even if someone were dumb enough to go out and try and find it, they’d just get themselves lost and possibly killed. But one of the voices whispered frantically, saying that if Tommy found his house, anyone could. But Tommy had been lucky. No one had Tommy’s luck. Not even Techno himself.

His hands were beginning to shake.

He rushed back upstairs and grabbed his sword from where he had leaned it against his bed, there in case he needed to grab it. He pulled it out of its scabbard, tossing the piece of leather to the side carelessly as the enchanted blade shimmered. His mind was running a hundred miles a minute it felt like, and the voices were getting louder, getting panicked, and he wanted them to shut up, _shut up, shut up so I can concentrate, you stupid fucking—!_

_“⍑ᒷ||.”_

He whipped around, immediately on high alert as he lifted his sword, but he found he didn’t need to when he saw who was there. Edward, his Enderman friend, stood there. He towered over him like usual, a whole head taller than him, as he clutched a grass block in his long arms. Techno blinked, put off by his friend’s sudden appearance. He hadn’t seen him in a while.

“What are you doing here?”

_“||𝙹⚍∷ ᓭ𝙹リ.”_

Techno didn’t know the Endermen’s language, but when Edward nodded towards Tommy’s empty bed, his heart leaped into his throat.

“Do you know where he is?!” Edward nodded. “Take me to him! Take me now!” He thrust his hand out, and Edward dropped one of his hands towards him. His fingers curled out from the black stub at the end of his arm, and even though it came with sickening cracks Techno barely even flinched, much less shuddered. The long limbs wrapped around Techno’s wrist, and a moment later, they were teleported away.

Edward teleported him outside. They were close to his house, and for that, Techno was grateful. Whoever had grabbed Tommy hadn’t gone far. He’d be able to fix this before it got too bad. But when he looked around, all he could see was darkness. “Shit!” He hissed before he felt something nudge his elbow and he looked over to see Edward holding a lit torch out to him.

_“ꖎ╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣.”_

Techno grabbed it, nodding his thanks before he lifted it in front of him. It didn’t reach very far, but it was enough. Snow was falling and the wind howled, threatening to put his torch out, and the snow was cold against his feet, but all of this was ignored as he pushed himself forward.

“Tommy!” He shouted since he knew he was already giving away his position with the torch, and the large Enderman behind him. But he had his sword, and he knew Edward would watch out for him. He had before when Techno drug himself back from that failed execution with only a set of iron armor and his pickaxe. “Tommy!” He shouted again, nearly roaring over the howling wind. “Where the _hell are—?!”_

There was a piercing scream to the east, and Techno was sprinting that way without much thought. He knew that scream. He had heard it plenty while Tommy was growing up, had heard it during that blasted war—he had told himself he’d never hear it again, but it was becoming clear to him that promises were made to be broken. He ran, Edward running and teleporting after him, torch held high and sword gripped in his other hand. He nearly ran into a tree, and when he stepped around it, he finally saw Tommy. Tommy, who was wearing his boots and cloak, fallen back in the snow as he held up an ax with trembling hands, pointed right at two zombies shuffling towards him.

The next moment, he saw red, and the voices roared in his head. When he could see again, he was chopping off one of the zombie’s heads and getting shot in the shoulder in the arrow, while the other was a mutilated mess in the snow. They were both missing several limbs, both missing their heads. Edward teleported away and swung one of his long limbs into the skeleton that had shot him, sending it into the nearest tree and causing it to collapse into a pile of bones. Techno barely felt the arrow in his shoulder and he was still gripping the torch Edward had given him, breaths coming quick as he looked around for more mobs. When he believed he saw nothing, he turned and looked down at the blond-haired teen in the snow. Tommy stared back up at him with wide eyes, shrunken back into the snow. Fear was rampant in his eyes, pupils dilated as he stared up at the taller piglin-hybrid.

“What the hell are you doing out here?!” Techno shouted down at him. He took a step towards him. Because of his panic-induced adrenaline, the voices still shouting in his ears, blood still pumping from those zombies, he missed how Tommy shrunk down even further into the snow. “Why do you have that ax?! Why did you take my boots and cloak?! Why the _hell_ did you even _come out—?!”_

_“ᓵ∷ᒷᒷ!¡ᒷ∷!”_

Edward was there. Techno didn’t know his language, but he knew certain words. And he knew that word was ‘ _creeper_ ’ and the terrible _hisssssss_ behind him only confirmed it.

Techno had survived for as long as he did to gain the phrase ‘Technoblade never dies’ because he was fast. He had fast feet, fast reflexes, and an even faster mind. Sometimes, it was too much to handle. But at this moment, with his voices screaming _protect Tommy protect him protect the boy protect him protect him,_ he knew what to do. So he turned, dropped the torch into the snow, and launched himself into the creeper. They went sprawling back, and just as they hit the snow, the creeper imploded underneath him.

And then everything went dark.

  
***~*~*~*~*~***

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me too badly._

Tommy’s mind was frantic with these thoughts as Techno stood over him, sword dripping with gross zombie blood, eyes feral with anger, and knuckles white as he clutched his flickering torch.

_What. What the fuck. Why. What._

His mind came to a screeching halt when that Enderman said something and Techno immediately turned, dropped his torch, and slammed himself into a hissing creeper. When the creeper exploded and Techno was thrown back, limp as a ragdoll, he screamed.

_My fault. This is my fault._

And his mind was filled with destructive thoughts as the Enderman dropped it’s grass block to grab Tommy by his collar, teleporting them to Techno’s side so it could grab him by his wrist before it teleported them away _again,_ and they appeared inside the house with loud thumps.

Tommy’s breath was fast as he scrambled back, staring at Techno’s limp body with wide eyes. His shoulder bled, the arrow’s shaft broken off and the arrowhead dug deeper into his skin thanks to the explosion. His sleep clothes were ripped up, and his cloak felt way too heavy on Tommy’s shoulders. He shoved it off, hands shaking as he covered his mouth with both of his hands. Tears as thick as heavy raindrops fell down his cheeks, and the voices in his head grew louder, angry and shouting at him. They sounded like Dream. They sounded like Wilbur. They sounded like Tubbo. And they all told him he was a fuckup, they all told him that this was his fault.

Then that Enderman was there, standing in front of him. It shoved something into his arms, and he realized it was clinking potion bottles and gauze. He stared at them dumbly while the Enderman teleported away again, appearing in the bathroom to grab more things from the first aid kit before it came back with a bottle of cream in its hands. It shoved that into Tommy’s hands too, then teleported behind him and grabbed him by his collar. Tommy kicked his feet as he was yanked up, then paused as he was sat on his feet and shoved towards Techno’s limp body.

 _Fix this,_ the voices shifted, low hisses still sharp with anger but now shaped with determination. Now, they sounded like Phil, like all the times Tommy would mess up as a child and Phil would place a gentle hand on his shoulder or his back and tell him to make it right, to either clean up the mess he had made or apologize to his peer that he made cry. This was, admittedly, a bit more serious, but his shoulders lifted and his grip on the objects in his arms tightened.

_This is your mistake. Fix it. Make this right._

Edward watched as Tommy rushed to Techno’s side before he sat and crossed his legs. He would leave when he was sure his friend was alright. He had done the same for him, after all.

  
***~*~*~*~*~***

Emperor Pete of the Antarctic Empire stared out the window beside his desk, his head leaned against his hand. His eyes were tired, the bags under them as heavy as the weight placed on him by his title. There was a soft humming by the only other person in the room, as he sat on the loveseat across from Pete’s desk, mending to one of the many holes in one of his many, many shirts. It was quiet in the room, the silence filled by the humming and the crackling of wood in the fireplace. But even in the comfortable silence, Pete felt on edge.

“Something’s wrong.”

Puppy brown eyes lifted from his shirt to stare at him. He paused in his mending while Pete stood and walked up to the window he had been staring out of. He continued staring, but he wasn’t staring at the falling snow, or the city glowing with life below and around the castle. He was staring past all of it, at the feeling of discomfort growing in his chest. They didn’t say anything for some time, the mending man on the couch still and silent as he stared at his Emperor.

Finally, Pete spoke.

“Something’s wrong with the other two.”


End file.
